


Trouble Brewing

by IrishWitch58



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Oral Sex, gratuitous destruction of ballistics dummies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 11:33:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18468109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrishWitch58/pseuds/IrishWitch58
Summary: Agents behave badly when left to their own devices. Q finds it necessary to step in.





	Trouble Brewing

MI6 agents were supposed to be efficient and expert at espionage, assassination or whatever else was required by the job. And, on the job, they generally performed above expectations. The problem was, when such highly trained individuals were left to their own devices, they came up with innovative means to create chaos for ordinary human beings. It was generally acknowledged by the support staff that 006 and 007 were the absolute worst exemplars of this tendency and that the problems multiplied exponentially when the two of them were together. The Q branch staff were honestly half convinced that the entire 00 program was filled with over sized toddlers. They had the same attention span, impatience and the same attraction to shiny objects. The present Q had essentially applied child proofing psychology to his branch. Anything breakable, all projectiles, sharp objects and especially explosives were to be under lock and key whenever any 00 was likely to come through the department. In the case of 006 and 007 the staff were also advised to hide their snacks. The agents grazed through unoccupied cubicles and any unprotected candy bar was fair game. Trevelyan had once eaten an entire lunch belonging to a female technician. The poor woman had thrown the empty container at his head while cursing in Lithuanian, all the while weeping tears of pure rage. He had stood completely amazed at the reaction, apologized, and returned 30 minutes later with lunch for the entire department. He had limited his predations to snacks since then. Bond had gone a different direction. He currently only pilfered Q's personal stash, claiming the quartermaster kept better quality biscuits. He would occasionally appear with full bags of sweets from fancy confectioners and gift them to Q to make up for the piracy. 

When Moneypenny called him that morning, Q picked up absently, expecting some new gossip or an invite to lunch. “Heads up, sweety,” she said too cheerfully. “The terrible twins are in the building and at loose ends. They mentioned swimming first and then the range.”

Q pulled up the range schedule and cleared some time on it. “Why am I so blessed?”

“Well you know Alec tore up his knee and medical won't clear him for field work yet. And Bond is on mandatory leave. He's gone six months without taking more time off than days between missions so M had Tanner pull him from the roster for two weeks.” Moneypenny sighed. “Nothing I could really do about it.”

Q leaned his head into his hand and groaned. “Thank you, Moneypenny. Forewarned is forearmed I suppose.”

“Good luck,” Moneypenny rang off.

Q tapped a fingertip against the edge of the desk. He checked the programs he had running and then headed down to the range. He selected some appropriately destructive weapons and ammunition in ridiculous quantities. The range supervisor looked on with trepidation. “Sir? Field agents?”

Q grimaced as he arranged a series of targets, including no less than four ballistics gel dummies. “Worse, Trevelyan and Bond.” The range supervisor paled but nodded in acknowledgment. “I'll send you an alert when I see them coming,” Q promised.

Q returned to his office and cued up the cameras on the gym and pool. Sure enough, there they were. The two terrors were swimming laps, competitive as always. They would likely have been sparring if 006 had been in any shape to do so. Q covertly admired the view for a bit. Both agents were in supremely fit condition and drew the eye but, for Q, Bond was always the one he watched. Perhaps because he had more to do with his missions or perhaps he just had a thing for craggily handsome men who looked amazing in tailored suits. He deliberately pulled his gaze away as Bond exited the pool. Tailored suits be damned, the view in that bathing suit was devastating. 'Mind on your work, Q,' he chided himself. He switched to the cameras in the corridors between the gym and the range and waited. Dressed again, and in very casual clothing, both agents sauntered down the hallways, bumping shoulders and carrying on like children, obviously sharing some jest or other. Q buzzed the range supervisor to alert him and went back to his own work. He kept the range cameras in a small window at the corner of his screen where he could glance at the anticipated chaos occasionally.

At the end of an hour, Bond and Trevelyan had demolished every target culminating in them both firing a series of explosive and incendiary rounds into the largest of the ballistics gel mannequins, the expensive one with the actual skeleton. Q made a note to add an order from the biological supply house for more articulated skeletons. Apparently satisfied with the level of destruction, the two were comparing notes as the range supervisor returned the weapons to the inventory. Q checked the time. They would likely leave the building after this, no doubt planning a meal and a pub crawl. Trevelyan, in particular, had a legendary tolerance for drink. Bond seemed to have moderated his excesses a bit lately and, fortunately, he had never been one for public intoxication. Hopefully the rest of Q's workday would be more sedate.

Some hours later, Q glanced up. The technician at the door was a long time employee of the division. Q took only a second to place the face. “Louise, something for me?”

She shifted uncomfortably. “Sir, there's been a breach in one of the storage rooms. Foster thought you should see.”

Feeling a sense of dread descend on him, Q followed the young woman to the corridor leading to the maze of tunnels behind the branch's main work area. Several turnings later, they were in one of the oldest sections. The place had a slightly damp feel to the air and the old brick and stone walls gave off a chill. A sturdy and very modern steel door stood open at the far end of the corridor. Foster was standing looking through the opening and the most unusual noises emanated from within. It sounded, as impossible as that was, as if some schoolgirls were holding a party and giggling while reciting absolutely filthy limericks. As Q approached, Foster shook his head lugubriously. “All of it. They drank all of it.”

Q pushed past and surveyed a scene out of a demented imagining of a bacchanal. Bond and Trevelyan, senior agents in the service of Her Majesty, were seated on the floor, disheveled and glassy eyed. Each held a large amber glass bottle. Empty bottles of the same sort littered the floor. They were both inebriated and apparently were very happy drunks. 

“Q, come join us,” Trevelyan gestured with the bottle.

Bond went so far as to make a grabby hands gesture. “Come on in and sit with us. Have some of this stuff. It's great.”

Q shook his head. “What's going on with their voices?” he asked. Foster looked guiltily at the floor. “Foster, I have a distinct recollection of telling you to dispose of the results of that experiment. Helium infused beer has no practical application.”

“But Sir, it was so expensive to make and I didn't want to just waste it. I was saving it for the holiday party.” 

Bond had finished his bottle with another long pull, throat working very attractively Q thought. He burst out in a very bawdy song in a voice with none of it's usual resonance. Trevelayn joined in, both of them laughing in high pitched gales of giggles at the sound. Q looked at his watch and sighed. “Louise, get my bag and coat from my office. Make sure you grab the keys and meet us in the garage.” She hurried off to do as ordered. “Foster, you get 006, I'll get 007. We need to get them to the parking level. I'll take them home. You clean this up and if there is any more of this stuff around, make sure it's out of here by the time I get back Monday.”

The agents were actually easier to manage than might have been expected. Trevelyan continued a recital of every filthy lyric he could remember in that high pitched parody of his usual voice but went along with Foster agreeably enough. Q dragged at one of Bond's arms and shoved his shoulder under it. “Come on, 007. Upsy daisy.” They almost overbalanced standing up but Q managed to get his tipsy agent vertical and moving to follow Foster and Trevelyan.  
They made it to the garage level and Q leaned his burden against the parking barrier. Louise hurried up from the opposite stairwell, holding out Q's messenger bag and his coat. Without waiting, she clicked the remote to open the doors on the anonymous little black Volvo. 

Foster settled Trevelyan in the right rear seat but, when Q endeavored to deposit Bond in the left side, he met resistance. Trevelyan had slumped over taking up most of the rear bench. “Come on, Q. Wanna sit up front with you,” Bond wheedled in the still disturbingly squeaky voice.

“You're sure they're not poisoned, Foster?” Q asked as Bond managed to get himself into the passenger seat and struggled with the seat belt. Q finally slapped his hands away and did the belt up himself, assuring himself he was NOT enjoying the contact. 

“Helium is essentially inert, Sir. So long as they don't consume any more, they should be fine. Their systems should shake it off in an hour or so.” Foster stepped back from the car. “I'll just take care of the clean up, Sir.”

Q glared back. “If they vomit in my car, you will be cleaning that as well.” He gave Bond a small shove to keep him from leaning and got the car in gear and moving. He kept the windows open, hoping that the fresh air might help in the sobering up process and allay the overwhelming beer smell. Good heavens, it smelt as if they had bathed in the stuff.

“Hey, where are we going?” Trevelyan called from the back seat. “Q, are you kidnapping us?” He punctuated his hilarity at his own alcohol fueled wit with a grab at Q's hair.

Q sighed as he fended the motion off. “I'm taking you to your flat, 006.” He almost laughed himself at the disappointed pout in the rear view. “No more drinking tonight, Trevelyan. I'm responsible for this little debacle. I don't want to have it go further than my division so home you go.” Luckily Alec's flat was quite close and he tended to follow Q's directions. Q pulled up and parked and opened the rear door, taking care to remove the keys. He didn't trust a drunken Bond one bit. Alec was actually almost steady and was digging for his keys. He needed an assist fitting the correct key to the door but was eventually safe inside. Q made sure he heard the door locks click shut before heading back to the car. He found Bond examining the contents of the glove box. “You'll be disappointed 007. The only gadget in there is an ordinary tyre gauge.” Bond was examining the little silver cylinder, turning it over in his hands. “It doesn't explode,” Q said quietly, returning the device to the appropriate spot and getting the car started again. He realized, belatedly, that he did not know Bond's current address. He had moved flats and Q hadn't had the chance to check the database. He eyed his passenger, now apparently asleep, snoring with a slight squeak at the end of each exhalation. Waking him might not be the best use of time. In his present condition he might not even recall his new address. Q made a quick decision and headed to his own house. He had two guest rooms, certainly sufficient space for one intoxicated agent. And, he rationalized, Bond did seem a little worse off than his fellow agent. Perhaps it would be wise to keep him under closer observation. 'Sure, keep telling yourself that, Q,' he thought. 

The house was in a very quiet neighborhood with pretty gardens and neighbors who minded their own business and thought the young man who lived in the end house was a tech writer. Close enough to the truth. He pulled the car into the drive and walked around to the passenger side. “Wakey, wakey,” he sing songed at the sleeping agent. Bond opened one eye and looked around. “It's my place, Bond. Come on. The guest room awaits.” While he spoke, Q was hoisting up his bag and, to his surprise, Bond agreeably exited the car and followed, with only a slight wobble. Q tapped the remote door lock and the car beeped cheerily. He found himself struggling at the door a bit with Bond leaning into him and wafting beer laced breaths at him. Seriously, Foster was going to be given the most tedious jobs for at least the next month. As the door finally opened, Q grasped one muscled arm and hauled Bond after him. He made sure the door was closed and locked with the alarm reset before he turned to see where his charge had gone. He stepped into the lounge and saw nothing. He advanced a bit toward the old fashioned sofa that he had purchased second hand because it was just too comfortable to pass up. He jumped as a firm hand landed on his shoulder. He spun to find Bond watching him with some degree of amusement and eyes somewhat clearer than they had appeared in the car.

Q shoved down the annoyance. “You're not as drunk as we thought, are you?”

Bond shook his head, laughter lines crinkling his eyes. “Neither was Alec. It was fun though.”

Q was beginning to feel quite uncomfortable. “Was it all a joke then? A joke at my expense?”

Bond's smile softened a bit. “No, Q. We actually were a bit over our limit to begin with. Helium is a bit of a rush and the effects were entertaining at a schoolboy level. I actually found it quite fun. Especially you taking charge of everyone. You really are quite a force of nature when you choose to be.” While he was speaking, Bond had taken a step closer to where Q was standing, “I was especially taken with the way you fastened my seat belt. Always looking out for your agents aren't you?”

Q's brain froze, just locked up like a faulty processor. He watched as Bond ran his tongue along his lower lip, fascinated by the gesture. 'He's actually flirting with me,' was the thought that finally registered. Q rigorously kept his few personal interactions separate from his work life but he could forgive himself for this later. He gripped Bond firmly by one solid bicep and the collar of the casual turtleneck jumper and captured his mouth, ignoring the taste of the beer and diving in with his tongue. He traced the teeth and tickled the roof of his mouth and absorbed the hum as Bond responded with an exploration of his own. He drew back with a soft wet noise as their lips parted. “Any objection to moving to the sofa?” he asked, idly running a finger up the strong column of Bond's neck to his ear.

“None whatsoever, Q.” Bond shifted around, and backed up the few steps to the sofa, sitting and keeping his gaze focused up on Q's face. “Just so you know, Alec has been calling me an idiot for weeks for not saying something to you.”

Q considered this as he folded forward, placing his knees carefully to either side of Bond's hips and his hands on the broad shoulders, still looking directly into the crystalline blue eyes. “And does he generally act as a matchmaker?” Q ran the fingers of his right hand through the blonde hair. 

Bond smiled broadly. “He acts as a kick in the backside when he thinks I'm doing something stupid. He said I should take a chance and that you were perfectly capable of keeping me in line.” Bond chuckled. “He also said you have a cute arse and if he was interested in men he'd have been after you himself.”

Q nodded, leaning in closer so his lips brushed Bond's ear. “And what do you think, James,” very pointedly using his given name.

“I think I'd like it if you'd stop arsing around and kissed me again, you tease.”

Q gave a slow smile. “Oh be assured I am never a tease James. I always follow through.” He settled down a little and pushed his hips forward, watching as Bond's eyes widened at the press of their erections through their clothes. He felt the slide of strong hands around him, thumbs at the waist band of his trousers and fingers kneading into the muscles of his backside. He closed his eyes and stretched, luxuriating in the freedom to express a desire he'd been holding at bay for months. He brought both his hands up to cup James' face, thumbs rubbing lightly at those ridiculously attractive ears as he brought their mouths together in a kiss that began gentle and escalated to passionate as he plunged in with his tongue, taking full advantage of his position and the acceptance of the man under him. James' hands squeezed harder as he sucked at Q's tongue, Q reflecting he'd likely be able to take prints off his bum and smiling at the thought. 

Leaning away a bit, Q pushed at James' shoulders, getting him to sink a bit further into the cushions. He slid his hands down and grasped the hem of the dark grey jumper and shoved it up impatiently. James gave a low chuckle. “If I had known you'd be this eager to get at me I'd have worn something easier to get me out of. Maybe I should do it.” He crossed his arms and grabbed the fabric, tugging it up and off quite slowly. His head popped out with hair more disarranged that it had been and with a satisfied smirk on his face. 

Q gave a mock glare. “And you call me a tease you exhibitionist.” He grabbed the jumper and tossed it to the other side of the sofa and brought his hands back to rest on James' chest, fingers drawn to the small nipples. He rubbed lightly and leaned in to suck gently, pleased with the hitched breaths and the flexing motions of James' hands on his back. Letting his hands roam the taut abdominals, he took some time to get to the waistband of the dark wash denim. He watched James eyes go darker as his pupils widened and he took the time to knead at the bulge straining the zip. Q was more than pleased. James seemed completely fine with letting someone else set the pace. He edged the button free and then slid the zip down as carefully as possible, revealing plain black briefs. Q grabbed the waist of both jeans and briefs and jerked his head up. James complied immediately raising his hips as Q stood up and tugged the clothing down. James gave a definite relieved moan as his erection was freed. Q untangled one leg and decided the other was too much bother. He settled on the carpet and leaned in, propping himself on James' thighs and licking a long stripe up the underside of his cock. He considered the taste of musk, soap and the tiniest tinge of chlorine from the pool and sampled again, this time dipping the tip of his tongue into the edge of the foreskin. Smiling up into captivated eyes, he opened his mouth and slid down, engulfing firm flesh. Q was good at this, he knew he was. It was also very nice to be appreciated for one's skills and James seemed to be very appreciative. He gave a guttural groan and let his head drop back to the sofa cushions. Q took a grip at the base to get the angle right and dove down deeper. Bond sounded as if he might be strangling and Q felt one blunt fingered hand exploring the side of his face. Sloppy with spit and pre come, he slid up and down several more times, feeling the big muscles in James' thigh under his left hand clench and strain, finally pulling away to stand again, looking down at the utter wreckage of the man. James was flushed, sweating and panting, his eyes unfocused and his right hand reaching for his currently abandoned cock, pre come leaking in a steady stream from the slit.

“Tsk,” Q scolded. “None of that now. I have plans for that.” James managed to focus and watched as Q put his glasses aside and shrugged out of his own clothes. Q blushed a bit at the approving once over he got. His body would never be as heavily filled out with muscle as James but he was athletic and worked hard at keeping himself in a condition that allowed him to defend himself physically if he had to. As he slid off his own briefs, he made sure James got a good look at his own cock, a bit large for his frame when it was erect. He's had more than one lover quite surprised at that. He wasn't wasting time though. He hunted through the drawer of the small table near the sofa and fished out the lube and a condom. He dribbled lube inside the condom and then slid it over James' cock, adding more after and then applying a bit to himself, gliding one finger around his rim and anticipating the pleasure. He straddled James again, applying a firm grip at the base of the condom and teased a bit, circling his hips. James gave an all over shudder when Q slid down, taking enough to feel the stretch and waiting until he could feel it release. Then another small increment, a tortuously slow downward progress. He was sweating and panting hoarsely by the time he settled all the way down. James face had an expression of mingled awe and desperation. Q locked eyes with him and raised up and lowered down, using the broad shoulders for leverage. He increased the speed and varied it, throwing in a twist of his hips or a filthy grind at the bottom. And every times James tried to move, Q stopped. After several such moments, James' eyes flew open, pupils so wide the blue was all nut invisible. “Fucking dirty tease, you win! Just fucking DO IT!”

Q leaned in, sweeping his sweat soaked hair away form his face and pressed his lips to James' mouth and then pulled up and almost off and plunged back down hard, repeating the motion in a rapid fire rhythm, gripping and squeezing his own cock in time. James rolled his eyes up as Q came hard, squeezing down on the erection inside him as he did so, pushing James over a few seconds later. He lifted just enough to get the condom out of the way, tied off and put to the side. The sofa cushions had seen more than their fair share of fun and the covers were washable. He plastered himself to James' chest, laying random kisses along his neck and waiting for enough energy to actually move. They'd have to soon or risk being glued together as Q had made rather a mess. 

Bond ran idle fingers over Q's ribs, apologizing when that proved too ticklish and switched to his back. “Why so quiet, now?” he eventually asked.

Q sighed and answered, “I'm just not sure what happens next. I mean it's not actually against any personnel policy but...”

Bond kissed the top of his head. “Maybe we should just look at it as an extension of our professional relationship. We look out for each other.”

Q snorted. “I suppose it doesn't matter what we call it so long as it works for us. Just don't tell 006.”

“Why not? Afraid he'll say 'told you so'?”

“Don't really care about that, James. But you do know he can't keep any secrets outside of missions. He's a horrible gossip. And once he tells Moneypenny, we will have no peace.”

“How about a little peace now? I could do with a nap and we'll have to share a bed because you'll need to keep a close eye on me.” Bond punctuated the suggestion with a kiss to Q's nose, which made him look down it cross-eyed.

“Shower first,” Q insisted, getting to his feet and leading the way to the stairs. “And despite the generally good outcome, it might be wise not to consume unlabeled liquids in Q branch.” 

“Do I get an exploding tyre gauge if I agree?” 

Q shook his head, making a mental note to assign a complete branch inventory come Monday. 00 proofing was apparently a full time job.

**Author's Note:**

> Helium beer is an actual thing. Look up the you tube videos on it. This is essentially an excuse to write smut.


End file.
